She’s subscribed for years and years, ever since she found a poem by Conchitina Cruz, the one with footnotes longer than the poem itself (BTW, dear blog readers, self is proud to say she edited Ms. Cruz: she’s one of the contributors to the Filipino women’s anthology published by Calyx in 2003, Going Home to a Landscape)

She sent them “Alex,” her Moby Dick of a story (written at a time when none of self’s stories were over 15 pages), and someone was kind enough to send her a personal note, to let her know it “came close.”

That was yeeears ago. And still self feels compelled to submit, twice a year.

And sometimes she forgets that she already submitted twice in a submission period, and she’ll send (inadvertently) three stories, and then all three rejections will appear simultaneously in her e-mail.

People! Self is not over-the-hill! Not by a long shot! Just because she hasn’t gotten anything more than 24-hour-turnaround rejections from anderbo.com! Just because her latest “Bridge the Gap” entry for Camera Obscura failed to, as it were, bridge the gap! Just because ZYZZYVA no longer publishes people who they’ve published before!

You will not find self supine with despair, oh twentysomething author of Indiana Review story that caused self to laugh aloud (that is, until she read the contributor’s notes)!

Adversity only makes self stand up taller! Taller! Taller!

For, as Nietzsche once said or did not say: “What does not kill me makes me stronger!”

(This was the philosopher, self believes, who once came between a cart horse and a man with a whip. Didn’t he, however, die soon after that incident? Actions speak louder than words, dear blog readers. Now, if only self could find her way back to the main topic of this post, which was — ???)

A particularly single-minded raccoon got into the garbage last night, spreading the remains of several days’ dinners across the front lawn. The Man either: a) was too sleepy to notice as he left for work this morning; or b) assumed self would have plenty of time to clean it up.

Self is currently reading — and going ever so slowly through — The Miracle at Speedy Motors, by Alexander McCall Smith (The recently concluded Connoisseur’s Marketplace in Menlo Park was a huge distraction. Huge)

The Bin Ladens: An Arabian Family in the American Century, by Stephen Coll (recommended by The NYTBR)

Ghost Wars, by Stephen Coll

(On TV — self includes this just because — a re-cap of the Tour de France)

* * * *

In addition, today self has set herself to write a story about vivisection.

* * * *

A second rejection for a story she sent out before Hawthornden has arrived in her “in” box. The first rejection was semi-nice (Editor made note of the story’s “sprightliness” — !!!)

This second one, self can’t decide whether it’s nice, semi-nice, or boilerplate. So she includes it below, in its entirety:

Dear M,

Thank you for your submission THE ________ and your interest in ________ . We read your story with interest. Unfortunately, despite the evident merit of this piece, it didn’t feel quite right for us. We wish you the best of luck placing this elsewhere.

Please do try us again.

Best,

The Editors

Which means, you know, that — at least with regards this particular story — self is close. Very, very close.